The Smiling Boy's Painter
by Ellipsis the Great
Summary: We met. We hated each other. I fell in love. He fell in love. We had children. We got old. He died. I died. Seiner. Commission fic.


_**The Smiling Boy's Painter**_

_A One-shot by Ellipsis the Great_

_**Summary: **We met. We hated each other. I fell in love. He fell in love. We had children. We got old. He died. I died. Seiner. Commission fic._

_**DISCLAIMER:** Kingdom Hearts and everything affiliated with it belongs to SquareEnix and Disney. All I own is the plot…_

_**Rated:**__ T_

_**Dedication:**__ To FinalFallenFantasy, who won third place (and an honorable mention) in my '40 Points for 40 Prompts' contest over at deviantArt!_

_**Theme:**__ Mona Lisa_

There is an old man standing in front of 'The Smiling Boy,' the museum's most infamous artwork. Its painter has always been unknown. It first showed up in the house of a smalltime art dealer, but quickly became infamous as the 'Mona Lisa of the 21st century,' since (as its name suggests) its subject is wearing a small, mysterious smile that critics have been raving about for years.

It isn't the painting that is drawing the curator's attention this time, though it often does. No, it is the old man who has been staring up at it for several hours, now. The old man looks surprisingly spry for whatever age he must be, even with the cane upon which he is leaning heavily. His face is lined with heavy wrinkles that are made worse by the deep scowl marring his features; the expression also highlights an old scar that runs from right to left just over his nose. He is wearing a shabby white floor-length coat that might have fit him at one point but is quite loose, now, and a black beanie that hides most but not all of his gray-streaked blond hair.

Most curious about the old man, in the curator's opinion, is the small stack of what can only be paintings that is strapped to his back. They cause the old man to hunch a bit, although they do nothing to lessen the aggressive air surrounding him that has been scaring off other guests all day.

That air has also been keeping the curator and his staff from approaching, but the curator has finally located his balls and is now trying to keep them in place long enough to confront him.

"Excuse me, sir." He says, his voice crack mid-sentence as the old man turns to look at him with sharp blue eyes which haven't aged at all. "Y-you're…you're frightening the other p-p-patrons."

The old man snorts and straightens, shifting the paintings on his back. "I need to talk to the curator." He says in a gravelly voice that brooks no room for argument.

"I'm the curator." The curator replies uncertainly, and cringes a bit when the old man gives him a look that even makes _him_ doubt that he's the curator. "W-we should go to my office. Th-this way, please."

The old man hobbles along behind him, lips pressed thinly together, and the curator realizes after a moment that he probably should have offered to help carry the paintings. But when he looks back to make the offer, the old man scowls at him so fiercely that he jumps a little and begins walking faster, instead.

It only occurs to him when he has reached his office that that was probably a very rude thing to do to an old man, but when he turns around the aforementioned old man is still scowling at him. So he unlocks his door and steps inside, motioning the old man in.

The old man shrugs the paintings off and leans them against the wall, and takes a seat in one of the two chairs in front of the curator's desk without waiting for an invitation. Instead, he looks at the curator in a way that makes the younger man (who probably isn't actually that much younger than the other) feel like he is a high school student who has been called into the principal's office for something particularly stupid.

The curator sits down, clears his throat, and waits for his nice, comfy leather chair to give him the rush of authority he usually feels when sitting in it.

It doesn't.

"Name's Seifer Almasy." The old man says while the curator is still waiting.

"Cecil Ienzo." The curator says.

"I came for my painting." Mr. Almasy says, tugging on his beanie agitatedly.

"Your…painting?" Cecil repeats slowly.

"'The Smiling Boy'. It's my painting, and I want it back."

"I'm afraid the painter for that particular piece is unknown, Mr. Almasy, and its donator is listed as anonymous. Therefore…"

"Therefore my ass." Mr. Almasy cuts him off, thumping his cane on the ground angrily. "I'm telling you I'm the painter, you little shit, and I want my painting back. Preferably _before_ I die, which as you can probably tell could be any minute. So stop with all of your damn bullshit and give it back."

"Sir, I'm afraid I have no way of knowing—"

"I signed the damned thing, didn't I?" Mr. Almasy asks, obviously impatient. "There's an 'SA' mark right in the corner. SA. Seifer Almasy. Don't take a fucking genius to figure it out."

"Sir, your language is unwarranted and unwelcome."

"So's your snotty attitude, you bureaucratic ass wipe." Mr. Almasy snaps. "I just want the painting back, and then I'll leave you alone. It'll be back here before the year is up."

"Oh?" Cecil, whose balls have come back out of hiding again, arches an eyebrow at the older man.

"I'm dying, ain't I? All I wanna do before I go is hold a little art exhibit, and then I'll be done. You can have the rest of 'em, too, for whatever good they'll do you." Mr. Almasy shrugs at the other paintings.

"An art exhibit?" Cecil repeats.

Mr. Almasy scowls at him. "I don't like repeating myself, whippersnapper." He all but snarls. "But yes, an art exhibition. I promised Hayner I'd have one if he went first."

"Hayner is….?" Cecil prompts him.

"The smiling boy." Mr. Almasy says, and for just a moment his eyes soften in a way that takes Cecil even more aback than anything the old man has said. "My model. My partner. My…my world." Then the old man is scowling again. "And _obviously_ I can't hold a damn exhibit if I don't have all of my paintings. So I want it back."

"I can't just give it to you, Mr. Almasy." Cecil says, his voice almost pleading.

"And why the hell not? Someone just gave it to you, didn't they? So you can just give it back to me. I said I'd only take it for a few months, at most. Hell, the studio my bratty grandson found is right down the street! I don't want to take the damn thing forever—I won't be around that long."

"Sir, you must understand…"

Mr. Almasy's cane comes out of nowhere, striking Cecil's head swiftly and soundly. "No, _you_ must understand, Mr. Ienzo. I spent two years of my life on that damn painting. It's mine. And it belongs in a series of paintings that I've been working on since I was seven and a half years old. I gave it to a friend at my partner's behest, and because I didn't think it'd ever come to anything else. And then Hayner…saw my other paintings, and realized it was a series. And he…made me promise him that if he died first, I'd find wherever it had ended up—because Olette died decades ago, the bitch, and her useless husband just gave all of her stuff away—and have an art exhibit."

Cecil's ears had perked up at the word 'series.' "It's part of a…a series, you say?"

"That's what all of those are." Mr. Almasy motions at the paintings he'd been carrying around. "There are…oh, however many of 'em. All different sizes, different styles, different levels of talent. All by me. All of Hayner. And without 'Smiling Boy,' they're useless. It's gotta be a complete series. You must understand that much." The old man's tone implies that he doubts that Cecil _does_ understand that much.

"Mr. Almasy…"

"My name is Seifer." Mr. Almasy grunts.

"Seifer, then. I can…understand your plight." Cecil says slowly. "And I can…agree to loan it to you for as long as your exhibit lasts."

Mr.…er, Seifer's scowl deepens.

"However, there must be terms. One of the museum's staff must be allowed to take part in the planning of your exhibit, and be present throughout. And…you said you would give us the rest of the series?"

"What else am I going to do with it?" Seifer grumbles, but nods in agreement. "Just don't send some incompetent greenhorn."

"I'll send Lea Tavian." Cecil says, already dialing the number. "He's been a member of our staff for five years—since he graduated—and is both competent and able to double as security detail."

Another nod, this one in begrudging approval. "Think I've heard of him."

Cecil resists the urge to say that of course the old man has heard of him. Lea is something of a legend in the art world—he has an impeccable eye and is able to both spot the most promising up-and-coming artistic talents and pick out even the best forgeries. The only dark spot on the young man's record is…well, quite large, and involves juvenile detention and the burning of one of said forgeries…from the very museum he now worked at, embarrassingly enough.

Of course, the constant butting of heads that Cecil had with Lea had _nothing_ to do with why Cecil was giving the man this assignment.

Nothing at all.

(KNEEL,PAGEBREAK!)

The moment Lea sees Mr. Almasy, he dubs him 'Old Man Seifer' and refuses to call him anything else (except for, occasionally, 'You Old Fart'). Old Man Seifer, for his part, calls Lea 'That Shitty Carrot Top,' so somehow or other he figures they're even.

When Lea and Old Man Seifer arrive at the art exhibit, 'The Smiling Boy' being carried with no small amount of awe in Lea's arms, Lea knows immediately that this cantankerous old man really is its painter. Although he always expected to feel wonder and success at finding out who the mysterious painter is, he can only drudge up a little more respect than what the old man has already garnered—which is a lot, even though they have only known each other for a few hours.

Old Man Seifer is bombarded with about six boisterous children as soon as he enters, and Lea is surprised (more surprised than he is about the old man being the painter) to see a little smile come to the old man's lips. The children look a lot more like Old Man Seifer than Lea thinks they should.

"I thought you were gay?" He asks when Old Man Seifer tires of the children's questions and shoos them away to find their parents.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Old Man Seifer asks, giving him an odd look.

"Those kids…"

"My great-grandkids." Old Man Seifer says with a hint of pride in his voice, but nods as if he understands something. "Hayner's sister is their biological great-grandmother—she had some beef with the institution of marriage, so she agreed to have our kids for us as long as she got to be their favorite auntie. I'm their biological great-grandfather." Old Man Seifer looks up at one of the newer paintings in his series, which depicts the smiling boy—Hayner—as a middle-aged man holding a baby, with a smile on his face that out-shines the one he is wearing in 'The Smiling Boy.' "They're ours."

"Oh." Lea says quietly.

"Grandpa! There you are." A man—much, much younger than Old Man Seifer but at least ten years older than Lea—approaches them, all bright blue eyes and brown hair that has surprisingly few gray hairs. His smile makes Lea blink. "You must be the kid from the museum. I'm Skylar, this grouch's oldest grandkid."

"And still as childish as the _youngest_ great-grandkid." Old Man Seifer mutters, even though there is a little smile on his face. "Put yourself to use and help this Shitty Carrot Top hang up my painting, Sport."

"I haven't played any sports in years, Grandpa." Skylar says, but he is already helping Lea set the painting down and unwrap it. "Wow, Gramps. I didn't know you painted this."

"It was a long time ago." Old Man Seifer shrugs even as he steps forward and runs his fingers over the paint reverently. For a while it seems like he won't say anything else, but then he does. "I started this painting the day I fell in love with your granddad."

"Yeah?" Skylar puts an arm around Old Man Seifer's shoulders.

"Yep." Old Man Seifer pats Skylar's hand and smiles up at him. "You know we used to fight a lot?" Skylar nods. Lea feels a little left out. "One day after a fight—you can see it here, there's the start of a bruise right here under his eye—he was walking away and looked back at me, and I just knew right then that I loved him." Old Man Seifer makes a face. "The chickenwuss."

"Aw, Gramps, you're such a sap." Skylar giggles (and how a man his age can giggle, Lea isn't sure). "C'mon, Shitty Carrot Top, let's hang this sucker up."

"My name's Lea." Lea says as he picks up one side of the picture and Skylar picks up the other. He isn't sure why he needs help, as the painting is neither very large nor very heavy, but then Old Man Seifer starts snapping directions and he gets it.

When they finish—after what seems like hours but has probably only been a few minutes—Lea steps back and looks at the series in its entirety.

"We met." Old Man Seifer says, putting his hand on the wall beneath the first painting, which is an obviously childish depiction of a scowling boy. "We hated each other." A painting of the scowling boy pinned to the ground by a hand, scrapes on his cheeks and a tear in his eye. "I fell in love." 'The Smiling Boy.' "He fell in love." The smiling boy as a man, in bed, being held by another man whose face isn't shown. "We had children." The painting from before, of Hayner holding a baby. "We got old." Hayner, the smiling boy, in a hospital bed, old and tired but still smiling, and holding an equally worn hand. "He died." A funeral. The end.

"I don't think any of us has ever seen the entire series." An old woman says, the scowl on her face familiar as she looks up at 'The Smiling Boy.' Then she looks at Lea and nods. "I'm Ran Lee. The youngest of his three kids and the only one left." She squints up at the picture of Hayner and a baby. "You know, you can't see the baby's face, but you can tell by how old Papa is that that's me."

"He gave all of you the same look." Old Man Seifer says in a way that neither confirms nor denies her claim. There is something wistful in his eyes that makes Lea want to give him a hug.

Of course, Lea _doesn't_ hug him. Let it not be said that Lea has any sort of a death wish.

Old Man Seifer lets out a loud harrumph and turns. "We'll open the exhibit tomorrow at eight sharp, so get the rest of the paintings up."

"The rest?" Lea asks.

Old Man Seifer thwacks his cane against Lea's leg. "Seven pictures is hardly an exhibit, you idiot. Of course there are other paintings."

"Right." Lea forces out.

"Play nice, Grandpa." Skylar giggles again and pats Lea's shoulder. "You know, that means he likes you."

Old Man Seifer snorts disbelievingly, but doesn't argue. Instead, he limps over to the bathroom and slams the door shut behind him.

"Crazy old codger." Lea says under his breath, but it is obvious from Skylar and Ran Lee's laughter that they know what he meant even if they hadn't heard him.

(KNEEL,PAGEBREAK!)

Lea meets the rest of Old Man Seifer's family at various times throughout the day—there are seven grandkids, and nearly twelve great-grandkids ('nearly' because one of the grandkids was six months pregnant). Skylar is the only grandkid with no children of his own, and one of the great-grandkids (who is sixteen) has just found out she is pregnant.

All in all, Old Man Seifer's family is nice. They're definitely very strange—almost all of them cuss like sailors, except for the littlest ones, and physical harm seems to be the only way they know how to show affection—but nice, all the same.

At the end of the day, before he leaves, Lea walks…well, is dragged around the exhibit by an impossibly energetic Skylar, who tells him who all of the people in the paintings are. This is Hayner's sister, Mina Nevin. Those are Old Man Seifer's best friends, Fuu and Rai Talbot. Those are Hayner's best friends, Olette and Pence Jenner. That's Old Man Seifer's mother.

"Nobody knows who they are." Skylar says as they stop at the last picture. It shows two boys, one blond and one brunette, both with the brightest blue eyes Lea has ever seen. They look eerily similar to Skylar.

"Papa made them up. Don't let Skylar fool you." Ran Lee says from the office, which is a few feet away. "You two go on home, now. I'll lock up after I've gone to the bathroom."

"Alright, Auntie." Skylar smirks.

They leave a few minutes later—Skylar insists they wait and watch Ran Lee leave, and then insists on taking Lea to dinner at a cute little diner that he says the Almasy family always meets at to eat once a month. The waitress knows Skylar's name, and stifles a smirk at the sight of Lea, who is somewhat confused until Skylar reveals that he is gay and that the waitress thinks they must be dating.

Skylar laughs like that is impossible, but Lea is starting to hope it isn't.

(KNEEL,PAGEBREAK!)

The exhibit is, predictably, a huge hit. Even though it was only meant to stay open for a few weeks, it ends up staying open for six months.

Old Man Seifer keeps a small percentage of the proceedings—from entrance fees and the sales a few of the non-serial paintings—and gives the rest to an orphanage that Skylar says is where the old man grew up.

On the last day that Old Man Seifer has agreed to keep the exhibit open, they find him lying in front of 'The Smiling Boy' with his fingers laced over his stomach. For a moment they think he is sleeping, but when one of the great-grandkids tries to wake him they realize that he has passed away. Propped up against the wall beside him was a half-finished painting that sends a shiver up their spines, because it is dated for two years earlier and depicts almost exactly the scene they are seeing just now. On the back are the words Old Man Seifer had used when explaining his series of paintings.

_We met. We hated each other. I fell in love. He fell in love. We had children. We got old. He died._

Scrawled next to those words, untidy and obviously done as an afterthought, are the words '_I died._'

The End.

_A/N: Well, that was…depressing. Fun, but depressing at the same time. I'm not sure how I managed to do that._

_You've probably all noticed that the names are…ahem, familiar. Obviously, as is my tradition, I went a little crazy with them. Cecil Ienzo is Zexion (Cecil means 'sixth'), Lea Tavian is Axel (Tavian means 'eighth'), Skylar is Sora/Roxas, Ran Lee is Larxene, Mina Nevin is Naminé (Nevin means 'heaven-gifted'), Talbot means 'Mastiff' (American Mastiffs are quiet and loyal), and Jenner means 'engineer.'_

_Any old who, I hope you guys enjoyed it. Congratulations again to FinalFallenFantasy! I finally got one of these done in a semi-timely manner, haha. XD_


End file.
